A Human Heart
by Wolfgirl220
Summary: What happens when you mix a Whovian girl from our universe into the utter madness that is Doctor Who? A Man-Eating Clorxis, altered Time Lines, drums, pink hair dye, lots of screaming, stolen screwdrivers, unwitting marriages, step-children, missing eyebrows, Fanfiction "ships", King Arthur, pixie dust, and a constant migraine for the Doctor. Set seasons Two through Four.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so I've never done this before.**

**I usually write stories that are as anti-mainstream as they can get. But for some reason, I wanted to do something that was _kind of_ mainstream. Mostly because I keep joking with my friend about "What would you do if you found the TARDIS?" The idea of a girl from our world in that world? Every fangirl's DREAM! So this is my final attempt with a fanfiction story before I go back to actual writing. Just something in my head I want to play with and see how it pans out.**

**And, as always, because nasty reviews - which I have gotten before - really suck and are quite emotionally painful...**

**This is me, goofing around, having fun. Don't like, don't read. Constructive criticism is welcome. Nastiness is not.**

**On that note, let's begin!**

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I have a joke for you: Why does the girl who hates alcohol let her new "friends" convince her to go out to a bar her first night in London?

Wait for it…

Because she's a freaking idiot!

That's basically what I'm thinking as I stalk out of the bar that smells like stale beer (ew) and probably rotten eggs… though I'm kind of hoping not, at the same time. Either way, it stinks, and I'm miserable. And pissed. And annoyed. And whiny. As you can probably tell.

"C'mon, love where're ya goin'?" one of the guys I came with slurs behind me. "An' why'd'ya have to take that fine arse wit ya?" I grit my teeth and whirl, my long copper hair with it's blonde roots just beginning to peek out whipping me in the face. Between my pointy heeled sandals that have cut-outs up to my knees (which my mother calls my Dominatrix sandals - yes my _mother. _Problem is, she's right, they do kind of look like that...) and the black leather dress I'm wearing, I feel kind of like a bad ass. Right up until my annoying hair flies into my mouth and chokes me.

Still, I manage a garbled, "'uck do" (I think), and am able to raise my middle finger, so either way he got the message. Drunky whistles anyway and I debate throwing my shoes at him.

With a sigh I give up and trudge back in the direction I came from. Yes, I realize that being an American girl, living in a different _country_ probably most likely should've could've definitely would've, if they weren't drunk Neanderthals, grabbed one of the guys I came with and at least have them around for safety if not for directions. But when trying to make as regal of an exit as possible, I sort of figured _hey, they might try to rape me and dump me in an alley anyway… or at least be a nuisance._ So I said no thank you when the _least_ sober guy offered to take me home. Yerp. That's my luck, in a nutshell.

I'm sort of regretting that now.

Not that it's exactly _scary_; there's no one else around so I'm not getting leered at, and the night is warm, and the street is well-lit cobblestones. But I can't help the feeling that the further I get from the bar, the more I'm being… _watched_. Which is sort of crazy. More than a little. Right? More than a little crazy? Please oh God _please_ let that be my PTSD acting up. _Please!_ Paranoia is part of the package deal, apparently, when you have sporadic episodes over… _that stuff_. That stuff that happened a few years ago. Along with it? An extreme aversion to guns, unwillingness to trust anyone save a few, and more than a little self-defense knowledge. I write it off as paranoia because that's easier than being y'know, _crazy_, and keep walking. I'm sure that my apartment - or is flat now? - is around here _somewhere…_

To keep myself calm as that eerie sense of _oh my god_ at bay, I start ranting. "Aren't boys supposed to be _better_ than girls as friends? Punch each other and the fights over, and none of that back-stabbing crap? I'm twenty-two; they were _supposed_ to catch up in maturity by this point! Not do that stupid drunk boy act. They're the freaking fracking prefects! Hey that word's kind of funny - it's like perfect with a flip in the middle. Well, they sure as hell aren't. _Fine arse _my… ass." I know I sounded ridiculous, but the street was so eerily _silent_ that any noise, even my unending babble, was better than quiet. A _lot_ better. That sense that I was being followed and watched (_stalked_) became stronger each time I shut up. So I didn't. "What is it with people, huh? Go ignored and ignored and ignored and then BAM! Not ignored! High school _sucked_ but college? So much better. Med school so far blows but hey, can't help it with that one… Just gotta avoid prefects…"

A noise behind me has me whirling around, heart thrumming a disjointed rhythm, as if not sure whether or not to be afraid. I swallow and reach into the little purse hanging at my hip, feeling around for the can inside. I'm aware that Mace is illegal in most places; I don't bother with that or pepper spray or anything that will get _me_ in trouble. The nice part about being a girl? No one questions when you bring hairspray along with you, even when you're hair is down. That shit _stings_ when it gets in your eyes!

I don't stupidly ask "Who's there?" and then try to investigate. I'm a horror movie buff; the blonde who wears the sexy/slutty clothes and gets killed in the first twenty minutes of the movie is _always_ the chick who "investigates." Or is sleeping around. Or just having sex, period… Which I realize is a _little_ irrelevant since I'm walking home and not doing any of that. Anyway, the point is I'm not going to go investigate.

Walking backwards isn't exactly smart either, but hey, better than bottle blonde going and poking around the dumpster, right? At least by doing this, I know when I'm being snuck up on.

Nothing moves in the dark. I didn't really expect it to, but I just feel… _safer_, walking with all my angles covered. Sort of. _Safer_ turns out to be irrelevant when I turn around and smack straight into someone. I shriek and spray without thinking, getting the guy - because it is a guy even though I don't see his face - right in the eyes before I even have time to register what he looks like. He screams in pain and jerks away from me. I feel sort of bad, but my nerves are so on end, I don't even hesitate; I _run_. I'm good at running - I've been a runner since I was seventeen going on eighteen. I like running when it's just getting dark out, when it's cooler and there's less people. It took a while for me to get to the point where I run daily, but I do now.

However, I don't usually run in four inch stiletto heels.

When I go down, it's not pretty. Face first, straight into the cobblestones, skidding included. I feel the stones grind against my face and practically rip the skin right off of my cheek. I don't bother dealing with the pain at the moment though; I get up and hobble/run as fast as I can away from the guy behind me. This time I keep my weight on the balls of my foot so only the distant clack of my heel touches the ground; I don't let the backs touch for more than a second so that I don't twist my ankle and go down again. I've had experience running before, with that panic teasing my lungs into giving up their air and the feeling of dread biting at my ankles. I know _fear_, know how it claws and screeches and grabs hold of your heart so hard that blood doesn't pump properly and you feel numb, so numb it becomes hard to run. There's nothing like being forced to run for your life, to feel as if even chancing a _glance_ behind you will mean losing those precious few seconds that can save your life.

I don't look back.

I hear shouting, a "Wait!" in a voice that sounds _vaguely_ familiar, but I don't. I keep running, the _click, click, click,_ of my heels fading away in the need to _get away, get away, get away._ I keep running, fast as I can. My hair gets into my face again and I do my best to brush it away so I can see where I'm going. I bolt down street after street, winding my way through London even though I don't have a damn clue where I'm going, because not stopping is not an option. I keep running until I come out into a brightly lit square with hundreds of people around me. Only then do I slow, letting my feet touch the ground and the breaths to saw through my chest like razors raking over the soft flesh inside of me.

A hand comes down between my shoulder blades, a pin-prick of pain making my flesh jump, and I shriek, backing away quickly. "Hey, calm down," a voice soothes, a gentle hand catching my wrist. "It's okay." I yank my wrist away and glare at the nice-looking (_really_ nice looking) guy looking me over with concern. "Are you alright?" _He has really nice grey eyes..._

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, brushing my sweat drenched hair from behind my back over one shoulder. "I'm just… I'm lost." The more I stand there and warily check out the newcomer, the more I feel myself relax. The panic ebbs faster than it ever has before and I feel my heart slow back down. My face stings and I know I must be a sight, but the guy holding his hands out as if to catch me if I decide to all of a sudden faint doesn't seem to mind the blood on my face and the dirt covering my front.

"Oh, you're American!" the nice-looking English guy replies with a hint of a roguish grin - _and oh boy I'm in trouble, because when he does that he looks like Captain Jack Hotness!_ I try to glare but man that _grin…_ It gets wider and _crap, eyebrow cocking_._ SO NOT FAIR!_ "Would the American princess like some assistance back to her humble abode?" I snort and raise my own eyebrows at that one, even as I blush. He makes _princess_ sound like something _other_ than an insult. This guy must have women practically dropping like mayflies. And men.

"Are you going to start winking and trying to get me to buy you a beer?" I ask snidely to regain some semblance of control. Only he laughs at my naturally abrasive nature and offers me his arm.

"Oh, darling, if anyone needs a drink it's you." His grey eyes soften. "You look like you had a bit of a fright. C'mon, I'll walk you home."

"What, and let you have your wicked way with me on the way? I don't even know you!" I retort. He only grins wider and offers me his other hand.

"Cody Smith. You darling?" I cautiously take his hand and shake it.

"Belle." I don't give him my last name and he doesn't push me.

"Ah, fancy that, a princess name," he teases, and I giggle a little. His dark hair curls around his ears in a way that just makes me want to run my fingers through it. "Well, Princess, let me take you home."

"Okay." I tell Cody the little street not too far from King's College and put my arm through his with a faint blush and tight little smile. We stroll out of the brightly lit square onto equally bright streets. I remember the bottle of hairspray in my hand.

I don't put it away.

My heart rate eventually slows and I feel myself relax marginally. Cody's not grabbing or groping or being lewd; a perfect gentleman, he guides me through areas that are crowded with people. I appreciate that _immensely._ I still don't put away my hairspray, but my grip on the can loosens to about three-quarters of what it was.

"So do you make a habit of saving lost girls," I tease, squeezing his arm. Cody flashes me that grin that makes me swoon a little.

Okay a lot, but swooning isn't really something I like to do, so I made it _look_ like a little.

Yeah, I know: pathetic. At least I can _talk_ - usually around hot guys I can't talk, I stutter. Badly. Ever tried working with a hot guy as a lab partner when you really and truly can't talk without stuttering? It's _really_ frustrating.

"Just the beautiful ones." Inwardly I snort/swoon, 'cause _God_ what a line. Outwardly I stutter and shut up.

So much for being able to talk.

We continue on in silence, though it's not really uncomfortable. He flashes me that grin and I blush and (_inwardly)_ sigh like a freaking Nicholas Sparks fan. I feel all… _floaty. _And glowy, sort of like when I got my first kiss. It's weird but I'm sort of enjoying it. The whole world is looking all bright and fluffy, similar to when a fantasy movie is trying to give the impression of magic and casts a grey filter to soften the edges of the characters and the setting. I giggle at nothing in particular and he grins like the cat that got the cream.

I've _never_ felt like this. Hell, I've never trusted a guy I just met to walk me _home_ before…

And that thought has me stopping cold, reality rushing in like a freezing cold waterfall.

I don't trust. That's my thing. So why am I trusting Cody Smith? Right after being attacked? Why am I letting him take me home?

Suddenly the softening of everything isn't such a _good_ thing. It feels heavy, cloudy… _a blanket._ I can't feel as sharply, or smell as clearly, or see as correctly (though considering I need glasses that doesn't happen much anyway) as I'm supposed to be able to. I pull a little on Cody's arm and back away. He shoots me a look, a _concerned_ look, and puts a hand over top of mine to catch my fingers in his elbow. "Um… can you let me go please?" I ask. I glance around and squint to focus around those soft edges and blurred lines. With sickening clarity I realize that while the street is well lit there is _no one _around anymore. And I didn't notice until _just now_. I feel my eyes widen and I turn back to him. Only his elbow has trapped my fingers in a vice and his boyish grin is back, but sharper now, more brutal, closer to what I imagine a dragon would look like before it swallowed a maiden whole.

"Why?" he asks with that creepy smile. "We're nearly there." _Moron_! I berate myself.

"Y'know, I actually think I can make it the rest of the -" His hand snaps out and grabs me by the back of the neck, pulling me in close. Up close I can see his white teeth gleam in the streetlights and that the grey of his eyes has become hard, similar to stone.

"Nonsense," he says briskly. "We were having fun, yeah? C'mon love, you know we were…" The smile, the way he won't let me go… I just jumped from the cauldron into the fire, didn't I? Panicking, I try to win my fingers back, but he only laughs and wraps his thumb around the front of my neck, pressing down into my throat. The second his fingers come into contact with my skin, I feel another tiny pinprick of not-quite-pain. In a move as practiced as breathing for me I use my free hand (well, sort of, I was still holding the hairspray) to knock his away.

"Let me go!" I scream, slamming my foot into the side of his knee, jabbing my elbow at his face. It _should've_ brought him to the floor. Instead, I feel my head start to spin from the effects of whatever was making me mush in his arms. Instead, I feel my legs all of a sudden give out on me and drop me to the floor, the can slipping from between my fingers and rolling away with a distant _clang_. Instead, he grins and _changes_.

I'm pretty sure if I wasn't so busy passing out I would've noticed what he changed into.

When I wake up next, I can barely _breathe_, and it's so dark I can't see. And ew, I'm covered in slime. I push out with my hands and encounter nothing but equally slimy walls and a rather foul odor being released from said walls that makes me gag and try to buck away. Into more walls covered in putrid slime. Fan-fracking-tastic.

Being me, I immediately start coming up with scenarios about where I am and what's happening to me. Physically, I'm intact. All limbs there, and my head is functional - if pounding a little from whatever drug was pumped into me - as are my lungs and heart. All fingers, all toes. So, am I in a river bed? The back of a pickup truck for a pig sty? I feel out again, wrinkling my nose at the smell. Nothing hard beneath the walls. They feel sort of… _gummy_, similar to the intestines I've had to cut out of various animals for my classes. And _ew_, that's a gross thought. So not a pig sty. A mulch pit? A sewer? A sack in a basement beneath his mother's house where he's going to murder me and stow my body with all the other bodies of girl's he's killed?

...I need to stop reading Stephen King. And watching crime shows.

I can feel my adrenaline spike so I try to slow my breathing. _Calm. Stay calm. _I force my hands out one more time into that slimy wall, feeling my finger plunge below an inch or two of mucus. With arms and legs I lash out, testing this new lining, fighting against a surprisingly flexible barrier between me and the outside world. _Some sort of bag…? Don't think, just get out!_ I reach high above my head, looking for an exit, a possible string or staple or hell, even a _knot_, that I could possibly get out of. So far it just feels like a gooey bubble encasing me. _Breathe. Stay calm. No panicking. Keep looking._ I do, stretching out as far as I can in either direction, banging around and around and around while I look for a way out. I feel something by my foot after searching and searching, a little firm nub. An experimental poke proves that whatever it is, while with a hard interior, is also kind of spongy on the outside. I reach around, squirming into a ball to grasp it. Maybe if I can grab whatever it is I can tear through the bag -

Suddenly the whole bag quivers, _rippling_ around me, and I yelp as without warning the bag disappears and I am literally shot out of it into the harsh light of day. I blink and groan, dripping puss from the bag all over the place, a thick puddle of it forming beneath where I've collapsed.

Voices reach my ears. Two of them. I blink and wipe at my face, trying in vain to see. My contacts are fused to my eyeballs and pain makes me squint. I swipe at my face and fling goo away from me in disgust. It's _everywhere_, dripping off of my leather dress, coating my heels, soaking through my hair to my skull and oozing down the sensitive skin there, and squishing between my toes. With a noise of disgust I try to get to my feet only to slip and fall flat on my ass with all the dignity of a baby deer.

"Hey, _hey!_ Take it easy!" a voice - female - soothes. I blink but the room is still fuzzy and my eyes still won't open properly and my face is still throbbing from where I fell. Pain pushes against my temples, beating like Harry Saxon's drums in my head, so I can't concentrate now that the distraction of being _trapped_ is gone. The female voice shouts again, sounding angry and scared, but I can't make out the words. A male voice replies, indignant, and I smirk when the female retorts in what is clearly a reprimanding tone. When he speaks again I can tell he's pouting over being chastised.

"..._sprayed_ me with mace!"

"I would too if you snuck up on me," the female voice retorts. _Ha!_ I can hear. Thank God, I thought I was going deaf.

"She was being followed, I was trying to help!" the male voice snaps back. A vague flag goes up in my brain, but I'm too out of it to pay any attention, even as the flag bearer screams insults in several different languages at me. I just know I _hurt_ and I want a shower, my sight back, and a nap, in that order.

"Next time don't," I grit out. Good, voice works - now if only I could _see_… The female voice makes a noise that sounds like giddy relief and I can _hear_ the male scowl.

"Oh so next time I should let you be eaten by a Clorxis!"

"She was anyway!"

More shouting, back and forth. Hands help me stand and I sway once upright, steadied only by those calming fingers grasping at me. Something one of them said is important - _really_ important - but I'm a little focused on not pitching forward and banging up my already sore face. Those same hands guide me over to what feels like a stone structure and ease me back so I'm leaning and no longer have to feel the panic over whether or not I'm going to crash. With a sigh I tilt my slime-coated head back and let my limbs relax for what feels like the first time in hours. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I mumble. "Just tired." _Hey, hello! Something important they said, remember? C'mon you bum get up! Time to think now!_

_Shut up I'm tired_, I reply to the annoying voice.

The male voice sounds again, closer now, and familiar but _not_ Cody What's-his-jerkwad-drugging-face. I try to open my eyes again, but it still hurts, and I have to squeeze them shut again. "Not surprised. Clorxis venom is some nasty stuff, very effective, gets prey all willing and then hits them again to knock them out. You should have a bit of a headache for a few days… Welllll I say headache… bit morelikeamigraine, but! But I have a setting for that!" A noise that sounds like a sonic screwdriver hovers pretty close to my ear. Alarms go off in my head and I struggle to focus.

_Setting, wellll, venom, screwdriver…_ "What?" I mumble, my pounding head finally catching up that there is something not quite right going on here. The pounding eases the longer the noise lasts. "_What_ did you just say?"

"I said, I have a setting for that, should clear that headache of yours right up!" Cheerfully the male voice skitters off. "Now, I'm afraid the door to your reality closed so until I figure out how to get that back open you're… welllll you're a _wee_ bit stuck. But! Not to worry, I am working that out as we speak." _My reality? My WHAT?_ The lack of pain in my head means that the words now make sense - or at least they _should_. All I can think is that this is some kind of sick joke. How can I not be in my reality? I mentally add _likes sci-fi too much and is part of a cult_ to my list of why I am going to beat up Cody when I find the rotten asshole.

"Doctor, I thought you said that you -"

Oh _hell_ no! Nononononononononono! NO! BIG FAT NO!

"WHAT?!" I shriek. "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!" I clumsily back away from the structure I'm leaning against. "You did NOT just say DOCTOR! Oh HELL no!" I crouch down and run my hands through my hair repeatedly, feeling my breathing speed up. Hands hesitantly touch the back of my head and I jerk away, falling flat on my back. "Great! Just great! Been in England _one_ day and I've already been kidnapped by Whovians. Just wonderful." I throw my arms out in exasperation. "What now? Have me be your companion? Force me to participate in your ridiculous adventures? Was… was that supposed to be the mouth of a _Star Whale?"_ I can't open my eyes so I have to settle for pouting at the ceiling. "Can I at least take a shower first?"

Stunned silence. That's the only way to describe my little outburst. "Fucking nerds," I mumble, ignoring for a second that I am the very definition of a geek.

With better shoes, of course. And without the weirdo chicken stuff.

"...What?" the female voice replies in bewilderment.

"I'm sorry did you just say _Whovians_?" the male voice says with a mix of surprise and… _is that smugness?_ Whatever.

"You're both English, you've grown _up_ with that show. And weird," I grouse. I realize that that's not exactly fair but I've just been kidnapped by English people obsessed with Doctor Who, subjected to hallucinations (because how else can I explain that weird-o change-o guy?), and am covered in slime. I am not having a good day, and am not feeling charitable at the moment.

"Okay, so, say we have a particularly bad memory and are hermits besides - who do you think we're pretending to be?" Damn, it's a pretty good impersonation of David Tennant. He even got the inflictions right. But his voice is richer, warmer almost, than the actor's. At least up close it sounds better. Deeper and… _sexier._

"The Doctor and one of his companions. The infamous Time Lord, the Oncoming Storm, the Lonely God, known at the Academy as The-MMPH!" A large hand claps over my mouth, and some of the goop gets into my mouth from where his fingers slide some of it over my lips. _GROSS!_

"Okay! Alrighty, I get it!" I make a gagging noise and he quickly removes his hand before I spit onto his palm.

"Ew, what was that for? And what was I in? I feel _disgusting_!"

"Um… Sweetie…" Warm and kind hands instead of cool and slightly calloused touch me hesitantly. "Can you see?"

"No, my contacts are fused to my eyeballs," I reply crossly. A whirring sounds and suddenly my eyelids are popping open without any of the pain I've been expecting and experiencing.

"That better?" the male voice asks quietly.

"Yeah, actually, how did you -" For the first time that night I shut up as I come face to face with a wary Tenth Doctor and a concerned Rose Tyler looking down at me. "Holy fuck."

At least when I pass out the second time I don't fall.

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**Soooo...? Be nice and drop the starving writer a review in that pretty empty box below!**

**TTFN - Ta ta for now!**

**- Wolfgirl220**


	2. Chapter 2

**Quick note on this chapter...**

**If the Doctor seems a little too _okay_ with Belle in this chapter, considering how he usually is with women and people who know the future, that will be adressed in the next few chapters as he says his primary reason for allowing her in at all and then later as he actually gets to _know _ her.**

**Also, CaptainSplat (if I spelled that wrong I am so sorry!) your review made my day! Belle is certainly an interesting character - I'm having a lot of fun developing her and fleshing her out - and I hope you continue to like her personality. **

**As always, enjoy! I do not own BBC or its characters, but I sure as hell would buy them out in a second.**

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**Rose**

Thankfully for the woman who had come out of the Clorxis' stomach, she was already on the ground when she fainted. I drop by her side, taking her face in my hands and double checking her pulse. So far it's steady and she seems alright, if in shock. I look up at the Doctor, still watching the girl with copper hair warily as if she could spring up and kill us, and then at the unconscious Clorxis in chains not too far away. Poor thing - she really had a bit of a trip so far, didn't she? I sigh and wipe a bit of the mucus covering her prone form away with my fingers. "Doctor help me with her?" I ask, propping up her shoulder with one hand. A flash of something I know all too well flares in his eyes even though he doesn't voice it. Wordlessly, he comes over and helps me lift her, and between us we're able to haul her into a corridor and the nearest bathroom. Once there I set to work at stripping her of her shoes - pointy, suggestive, and dangerous looking leather things that make my eyes widen and the Doctor blush and look at the ceiling - and the Doctor runs her over with the sonic screwdriver to check for any lasting damage. Bruises and some nasty road rash on her face seem to be the extent of the damage to her, that and the remnants of the drug in her system, so he backs away and clears his throat.

"You should… she uh…"

"I'll clean her up," I say with a smile to halt his embarrassment in its tracks. "Can you get me some of my pajamas? They should fit her." Without the shoes she looks to be about my height. I study her, trying to make out her face without all the milky-green glop distorting her features. She looks older, probably mid to late twenties, with wide cheekbones set in a square face and a small nose. Decently sized eyes. _Very_ full lips. Pretty but not beautiful. And quite sarcastic, if the little bit of her personality we saw in the console room was any indication. The Doctor beats a hasty retreat and I laugh a little at him and his need to be distanced from anything awkward at all times.

Which is probably why we are at such an impasse.

My laugh becomes an exhausted sigh. It was hard for me at first to see beyond the new face to the man I was quickly falling in love with; and by the time I _did_ trust it, by the time I realized that face or not that was _my Doctor_, he had already put up those defenses, new ones, ones I'm completely caught off guard with. He's cheekier now, more open and yet more closed off - holding me at arm's length instead of behind a wall. Every day I feel a little more hopeful, because it seems that he wants to _finally_ let me in. And every night I end up a little more crushed, because as hard as I push, he just gets that uncomfortable look on his face and runs farther away.

And it's bloody exhausting.

I shake my head and focus on the woman who really needs my help getting cleaned up at the mo. I grab a few dry rags and soak them in warm water, wringing them a little bit and then gently wiping her legs down to start with. The gooey substance seems to dissolve in contact with water as it practically evaporates in the presence of the rag. I've just finished wiping down her legs and am working on getting the stuff out from between her toes when the Doctor comes back in with a bundle of clothes. He smiles at me, pride shining in his eyes and making my heart glow, before pressing a quick kiss to my forehead and leaving again. I blush and get back to work with a smile.

Her arms, legs, hands, feet, and face are easy enough to do. It's only when I have to remove her dress that the situation gets a little awkward. Getting it off is easy enough; there are no buttons or zippers of anything else to keep it hanging up. While it sticks to her skin a bit I can maneuver it off without too much of a problem. No, the awkwardness erupted because she wasn't wearing a bra underneath her dress, and I was faced with the question of whether or not to remove her goo-covered knickers. I look up at the ceiling and bite my lip, not sure what to do now. I can't really dump her in the shower, now can I? I'd have to get in there with her to hold her up and I'd be faced with the same problem. A bath was simply out of the question since she'd probably drown if I put her in there. and I'd have to _get her in there_ in the first place. I debate leaving the knickers on her, then quickly dismiss it considering how disgusting all this mucus from the stomach lining really is.

Not really a lot of options, are there?

I get rid of the rest of her clothes and try not to think about the fact that she's naked. Moving as quickly as I can I get the shirt the Doctor brought onto her. Shorts prove to be a little more difficult to put on her, but eventually they find their way to the right (and comfortable) position. All that's left after that is her hair. Soaking another rag, I wipe her hair down as best I can, parting the thick locks and wetting her scalp so I can get rid as much of the residue as possible.

Clean now, I call the Doctor back into the bathroom. "Where should we put her?" I ask him, helping support her so he can lift her into his arms. The Doctor shrugs and carefully arranges her so the woman's head is pillowed against his chest.

"Probably console room. Can put her on the couch until she wakes up; give her a room then."

_You're a wee bit stuck_, the Doctor had said to the woman. So apparently _stuck_ meant _not going home any time soon. _I don't know how I feel about that to be honest. All I know about her is she has a tendency to babble when she's upset and afraid and she got eaten by the Clorxis we chased into her reality. And, as the Doctor walks with her and the light catches her hair, she's not a ginger at all, but a natural blonde. Hardly enough to know if I'm going to even be okay with her staying on the TARDIS, let alone _like_ having her there.

He sets her on the couch, a little ways from the console, and I head out in search of a blanket. By the time I get back she's shivering in her sleep and curled up into a tiny little ball on the couch as the Doctor chuckles in amusement. I give him a raised eyebrow and he grins sheepishly. "She talks in her sleep," he says by way of explanation. I roll my eyes and drape the colorful blanket over her, watching as the shivering stops but she curls up tighter.

"Is she going to be alright?" I ask him. The Doctor nods, brushing a few strands of copper-colored hair off of her face.

"Should be. The Clorxis has two stomachs,one for digestion and one for storage, for lack of a better word. Bit like a snake, they don't chew their food, and digestion takes quite a bit of their energy. Must've wanted to find some body of water safe enough to lay low for a little while and eat, didn't think it was safe enough to go into a half-hibernative state there."

"Well, he was right about that," I murmur, gesturing to us and then glancing at the place now devoid of a Clorxis body. While not dead, the alien had taken quite a hit from the mixture of soniced music the Doctor had blasted at him. Apparently, while the long snakelike creature with feet and clawed fins and gills _and_ lungs didn't appear to have ears, the species had quite sensitive hearing organs - sensitive enough they had to shift to a humanoid form for more than just hunting, or risk being killed. The Doctor had only knocked the creature out before we hauled him onto the TARDIS and back into our reality.

Not knowing of the girl we were bringing with us.

The Doctor stands and makes his way to the console, and I follow him, leaning against a coral structure and raising my eyebrows at him. "What are we going to do with her?" I ask when he pretends to be engrossed in flying the ship. I know for a fact that the TARDIS is drifting in space right now, and that she will be until our newest passenger is awake and able to hang on when he starts rockin' the poor ship. Right now he's looking for a distraction. "Doctor," I say, not shortly or sharply but firmly enough that his dark eyes shoot to mine before he sighs and gives up the pretense.

"Rose I lied. She's not _stuck_ as in I can send her back; she's _stuck-stuck._ There is no way to send her back to her reality without causing a total collapse. The Clorxis already weakened the barriers by bursting through them like that, and we made it worse when we came back through the same method; they will _never_ get back to a point where they are strong enough to endure a beating like that so she can go home."

_Never_.

"I don't know if she even _exists_ in our reality," the Doctor says, his eyes beseeching my frozen ones. "As of now, there is a very real concern that she is going to be a permanent part of the TARDIS."

_Permanent._

Bile rises in my throat and I have to swallow hard to fight the guilty horror and the urge to be sick rising in me. _The poor girl…_ My mind tries to comprehend what she's going to go through when she wakes up, but my thoughts screech to a halt. How can anyone survive knowing that the world they thought they knew, the only world they understood, isn't there anymore? That everyone they love is worse than dead - separated behind a barrier they can never cross? How will she cope knowing that she can never go home?

The Doctor's eyes flash and I realize that this is the same story as his. Very soon, this woman will be living the pain he endures every day. She'll be able to understand him, more than I ever can. And that hurts, for several different reasons. I want to understand so I can _help_ him. But more than that, I know he doesn't want anyone to have even a meager sample of his pain - a pain he just unwittingly inflicted on another living being. I cross the console and hug him tightly, feeling him hesitate before he hugs me gingerly back.

"It's not your fault. You didn't know," I tell him. His arms tighten around me and he sighs.

"I should've. I should've realized -"

"Hey now. None of that. You _couldn't_ have known." I squeeze him tightly and he presses his face into my hair. "There was no possible way to tell that the Clorxis had already eaten somebody. And she's safe now; that counts Doctor." I tilt my head so I can look up at him. He meets my eyes with down-turned, heavy brows and a slight pout to his mouth that I know means he's barely hanging on by a thread. "What would've been better? That you'd lost her?" I remember the look of horror in his bloodshot eyes after he'd come back and said that the Clorxis was following a girl from a bar, but he'd lost her. And that chances were he wouldn't be able to save her. I remember how afraid and hurt he had been that he had lost _yet another _person. And now, small comfort that it is, I know he's relieved that she isn't, in fact, lost.

Just stuck.

Which, truthfully, isn't that bad.

Eventually he releases me from his arms and takes a step back with a smile that could power the TARDIS. He doesn't say thank you - he doesn't have to. I know it with every fiber of my being that he feels the thanks he can't express. I smile back and nod, ducking my head a little. We stand in silence that somehow isn't awkward but tense all the same. The Doctor clears his throat and immediately goes back to "piloting" the TARDIS. I roll my eyes and laugh at him, making sure to keep out of his way as he whirls about. A thought occurs to me and I frown.

"Doctor? How come she knew who we were?" I ask. The Doctor pauses for only a second before going back to his little charade.

"She thinks - or rather thought - we were a television show," he says calmly.

I snort out a laugh, but his brown eyes flicker to mine and away in a practiced move. I feel my laughter die. "Are you serious?" I demand.

"Yes." He crosses his arms over his chest and cants his head forward a little so he appears hunched. "It's entirely possible, actually; different realities have different rules regarding science, mathematics, and so on… It's quite possible aliens are a foreign concept in her reality, denounced to nothing more than 'science-fiction'... and us the product of someone's imagination."

"Wow." I glance at the back of the couch and chew on my lip. She's small enough that I can't see her from this angle, which only seems to enforce that fragility I see when I look at her. Suddenly her shock at seeing us - her faint inducing shock - makes a horrible kind of sense.

How would I feel if people I had been brought up to believe were fiction were actually _not_?

"Poor thing," I say sympathetically. The Doctor just shakes his head a little and looks back at the console.

"She'll be alright. Might be a bit of an adjustment, at first, but she'll manage."

"So long as there's coffee, I'll be perfect."

The Doctor and I both startle, whirling around to face the couch. She's not leaning up or anything, still hidden by the back, but I get the distinct impression she can see us even though we can't see her. Sure enough, she leans back enough that her face becomes visible over the arm rest. The woman offers a tentative smile, revealing perfectly straight and white teeth that must have cost a fortune through braces and dental work to achieve. She waves a little, her small hand a bit of a blur she moves so fast. "Hi."

I regain my voice first, rushing over to the couch and looking down at her. She cranes her neck back and regards me with an anxious expression. Now that she's awake I'd put her age definitely in the late twenties. "How're you feeling?" I ask, brushing my fingertips over her forehead to check for a fever. She shies away from the touch but her smile becomes more natural.

"Awesome. Y'know, for managing to cross the border between worlds and getting stuck, I'm doing pretty well." This is said with a smile but I still flinch.

"Heard that huh?" I ask. She shrugs back.

"Yeah, but I knew it already," she admits with a soft sigh. When I raise my eyebrow she grins. "I'm an honorary Whovian - _little_ obsessed with the show. And quit preening!" she shouts over the edge of the couch. I look up and have to laugh at the chastised look the Doctor has adorning his face.

"How did you do that?"

"Lots and lots of practice screaming at the tv," she responds. Her eyes travel back to me in wide-eyed fascination. I raise my eyebrows when the staring goes on for more than a minute. The Doctor perches on the back of the couch and peers down at her, and those eyes latch onto him instead.

Feature wise she's decently attractive but those eyes… the color of her eyes is borderline _hypnotic_. They won't settle on a single, decisive color, flickering from blue to grey to green and then swirling altogether before becoming distinct and separate colors again. Each tilt of her head, the lowering of her lids, the slightest shift in angle brings to life a brand new shade to the surface. Only when she stares directly at me can I see that her eyes are actually bright blue, so bright they have that dark ring around the outside of the iris. Streaks of what appears to be brown contracting into the pupils are what gives the tints of other colors to her eyes and creates the overall effect.

"Sorry," the woman is saying to the Doctor, though her eyes flicker to me to include me in the apology. "It's just… I can't believe you're…"

"Magnificent? Brilliant? Foxy?" the Doctor offers with a smirk. She rolls her beautiful eyes and gestures to both of us with her hands.

"_Real_. You're both _real_. Madison theorised that it was quite probable that there were other worlds out there - she's even writing her thesis on it - but it never even _occurred_ to me that this place…" She looks lost as she gazes up at both of us with an acute look of _awe_ on her face. And then heartbreak sets in at the mention of _Madison_, whoever she is. I grab at her hand and stroke the back in what I hope is a comforting manner. The woman smiles a little but she looks ready to cry.

"What's your name?" the Doctor asks gently. She blinks and breathes a little through her nose, struggling for composure. We wait patiently for her to calm herself.

"Belle. Belle Johnson."

"Belle? Like the Disney Princess?" I snicker without thought. Belle rolls her eyes and harrumphs, pouting her full lips.

"Yes like the Disney Princess!" she grumbles. The way her eyebrows are raised and she sighs in exasperation speak volumes about how often she hears _that_ one. I try to turn my next laugh into a cough but she still twists her lips to the side and gives me a _look_. A look my mum has used on me more times than I can count - the look of _I know what you're thinking and don't you even _dare_ try to act it out! _Suddenly, with a pang, I wonder if she had any kids that now no longer have a mother. Her clothes were rather sexy for a mum, but hey, I'm not judging.

"What's the last thing you remember?" the Doctor interjects, shooting me a quizzical and concerned glance. I hope my face doesn't show what I'm thinking. I carefully try to conceal any worry and adopt an expression of curiosity. Belle glances between us, her face unreadable.

"Besides passing out because it turns out my favorite tv show is an actual reality?" she asks sardonically. I press my lips together to keep from smiling. "Um… I realized I was drugged and was trying to get away when I started to hallucinate. Then I woke up in a weird goopy bag. Anyone going to tell me what that was by the way?" Uh-oh. The Doctor and I catch each others eyes, giving each other significant looks.

"What do you mean hallucinate?" the Doctor asks carefully. She opens her mouth, hesitates, and then groans.

"Crap, did it - he - _actually_ turn into a freaky sea monster? _Seriously?_" She thumps her head against the armrest and closes her eyes. "_Greeeeat._" I'm beginning to re-estimate her age; she _looks _older but the way she talks suggests she might be younger than she looks. The Doctor gives a sheepish little smile and tries to brush some hair out of her face in a comforting gesture I've seen him do a hundred times. Only her eyes snap open and she shies away as soon as his fingertips come into contact with her face. I'm not the only one that's raising my eyebrows. _Weird._ Clearing her throat she glares at first the Doctor and then at me. "He was an alien?"

"Yes. A Clorxis. Aquatic creatures for the most part, though they do travel on land to… hunt." The Doctor has that shifty look like he's about to lie, but Belle's eyes narrow at him.

"Hunt?" she repeats flatly. Even I wince at her tone, and she's not even glaring at_ me_. The Doctor clears his throat several times and Belle raises her eyebrows, her irises a pale blue now that enhance her glower.

"Well, yes, hunt, and y'know, eat, and -"

"How did I get here Doctor?" Belle interrupts his rambling with eyes slitted to the point of pale blue slivers. He audibly swallows and backs a pace away from her.

"You were eaten by the Clorxis and we didn't know you were in its second stomach," I say bluntly. The Doctor shoots me a look but I ignore him. "I'm really sorry Belle."

Her whole face freezes and she stares at us as if we're about to say that it was a joke. "What?" she splutters with wide eyes. I nod and cover her hand with my own, giving what I hope is a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm so sorry, if we had known -"

"That's why I was following you," the Doctor says, ignoring my indignant huff. Frankly I had no idea how to complete that thought anyway. What would we have done if we had known? Tried to keep her in her reality, obviously - but then what? Left her drugged somewhere? We had been running out of time and she had desperately needed help. What could we have done with only a few minutes? "I saw you were being followed and I was trying to protect you. Up until you sprayed me with mace." He still looks a little annoyed by this, but I can't help but giggle. Belle smiles faintly and meets him directly in the eye.

"It wasn't mace, it was hairspray," she deadpans.

"It still hurt," the Doctor whines.

"Suck it up you big baby."

I like her already.

Belle sits up against the back of the couch and pulls her knees in close to her chest so she can rest her chin on the tops. She looks so lost that she appears almost ten years younger than she probably is. I sit beside her and cross my legs, tilting my head in sympathy. I don't say anything, just watch as various emotions play out across her face, waiting for the questions I know are coming. She keeps looking between us, a hint of disbelief in that ever-changing gaze, but otherwise doesn't say anything for a very long time. Finally she tilts her head back so she can look at the Doctor, eyes wide and beseeching. "What do I do now?" she asked. There is no waver in her soft voice, only determination. I feel my eyebrows raise in surprise. Not _what are you going to do with me,_ not _what's going to happen to me_, but _what do _I_ do_. I see the Doctor notice that too, the way she immediately focuses on how she can take control of the situation, and the faint admiration that flickers for a second. He gets that way about us humans, like he's _proud_ when we take a stand for ourselves instead of letting the world wash around us, dragging us under the current of our lives and getting swept along. Whenever I stand for myself, whenever I say my thoughts, or whenever I even defy _him_, there's that faint praise in those ancient eyes. He turns that praise on Belle now, and she flushes slightly, though whether out of embarrassment or appreciation I can't tell.

"Wellll… you can stay with us, see the universe, get to know it a little better for now. See if there's something you'd prefer to do in a little while, if y'like, and settle in there," the Doctor offers with a slight smile. "Or we can look into getting you accomodations now, if you'd prefer."

"Travel with you?" Belle asks with wide eyes, almost comically huge, as she glances between us. "As in, see the universe? Aliens and planets and adventures, oh my!" There's the edge of an excited grin teasing the corners of her full lips. "Are you kidding?" Then her expression darkens slightly and she loses the smile. "But I know what's going to happen. I might _change things._ Won't that bother you?" The Doctor's lips quirk. A jolt goes through me as I realize what she's saying. It never occurred to me that she might know how all of this goes. My heart thuds in my ears as I wonder…

Does she know what'll happen to me?

"We'll get to that when you feel better," the Doctor promises. _Of course that didn't escape his notice._

"I'm a terrible liar," Belle warns. The Doctor shrugs.

"Make for a nice change."

"I'm going to interfere."

"To be expected, suppose. I always do."

Belle's lips are tugging up again and the Doctor just seems happy that she's smiling. I rub her shoulders affectionately and offer her another hand squeeze.

"We'll figure it out," I promise her. There's a flicker in her eyes that suddenly seem to be a blue-grey color, a sense of hostility in her stiff limbs, before she relaxes and nods.

"Excellent! _Molto bien!_" The Doctor cries, jumping up with his natural exuberance. "Now let's see about getting you a room, shall we?"

And just like that we have a new passenger.

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**Like? Constructive criticism? More day-makers? Drop 'em in the box below!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey all! Thank you for the support and reviews! I hope this chapter covers a lot of what is going through the Doctor's head, 'cause at the moment, I think he's softened enough by Rose that he actually is a little different in regards to other people. So, I hope this explains a little bit of what's going on.**

**great story (Guest): You're review made my day - I love that you think it's like reading an actual book! :) Thank you so much!**

**ShatteredBlue221: I'm glad you love it, but I'll be honest - I saw "spelling mistakes" and I was like NO! and banged my head against my desk. Stupid Google Docs... So heart warming and breaking all at once. Bit of a conundrum you gave me sweetie! ;)**

**A Strawberry (Guest): Sorry it's not an OCx1st or 2nd, but I'm glad you think this is better than a lot of other 10xOC's! I don't think the rating is quite M yet... might get there later, but honestly, I'm still pretty sure it's just a T. If I get enough people telling me otherwise I'll change it. I'm glad you like my writing style! :) But one quick note... whoever said anything about 10xOC?! ;) BELLE'S GOT PLANS PEOPLE! 'Cause all those fantasies fans have of locking Rose and Ten in a room together until they finally get their act together? Belle can do those now. And Ten is in. So. Much. Trouble! Ha ha!**

**Enjoy, and let me know what you think in that pretty but very empty box below!**

* * *

**Doctor**

I don't need sleep, not like a human does. A three hour cycle and I'm ready to go. Time is too precious to waste on sleep: there are places to go, people to meet, planets to save and Daleks to stop! Usually I'm up and waiting impatiently for my companions to rise.

But this particular morning, when I bound to the console, I find that someone else beat me at "non-sleeping."

Belle Johnson has the TARDIS door open and is looking out into the vast infinity of space with a look of childlike wonder on her face. But there are also the faintest tear stains on her cheeks, which she absently swipes at with the back of her hands as if they are merely an annoyance and not an actual problem. My eagerness subsides when I see that broken yet hopeful figure in the doorway. She's not crying anymore even though the tracks on her face suggest that the tears only stopped a few minutes ago, yet her eyes are not bloodshot and there's the hints of a smile at the corners of her lips. She's absently turning an iPod over and over in her fingers as she watches the stars outside the TARDIS doors, black earbuds in her ears and something soft playing loudly from the tiny machines. I stroll towards her until I'm standing right by her shoulder but she doesn't look up. The music is too loud for her to hear much of anything, let alone me. I tap her on the shoulder and she starts so badly I worry for a second that she's going to fall straight out of the TARDIS. She grins sheepishly at me and ducks her head to remove the earbuds, revealing golden roots beneath the coppery ginger of her hair. "Sorry," she mumbles. "Am I in the way?"

"No," I respond, folding my long legs underneath me so I can sit across from her. "No, you're fine." I notice the way she leans back, letting her head rest on the doorway, as if she's exhausted. She's changed since I saw her enter the room I made for her; bright blue jeans with imprints of black roses cover her legs, though the way she's sitting keeps me from seeing her shirt properly. All I can make out is that it's hanging off of one of her shoulders and is black. Her lips are painted a deep dark red, her skin showing the barest traces of makeup, and there's a thin and black line on her top lid now, hidden beneath a pair of red glasses with the bottom frame missing. Belle's feet are bare though, showing callused feet and black toe nails. I doubt she managed to clean herself up like this in the few hours I was asleep, but I ask, "Did you sleep?"

"I think passing out twice has filled my sleep quota for the day," she answers with a wry little smile. Her bright blue eyes with that dark ring and those misleading gold streaks around the pupil flicker from me to the stars again, a faint crease appearing around one side of her mouth. Otherwise her face is expressionless.

"Liar," I accuse gently. Belle glares at me from beneath black-coated lashes but doesn't say anything else. For a moment the stars reflect across the surface of her glasses and I can't see the truthful glint of her eyes even though I know it's there. "Why didn't you sleep?"

"Didn't want to," she says stubbornly, glaring out into the night now. I wait patiently like I usually do for my companions, expecting her to start talking any second now. Her body language clearly indicates that she would like to talk and that only her pride is keeping the words locked inside her throat.

Fifteen minutes later I'm starting to realize that maybe she won't be as forthcoming as many of the others I've traveled with.

"You're an obstinate thing, aren't you?" I ask quietly with a little smile. She shrugs and doesn't break the staring contest she's having with the emptiness broken by little pinpricks of light and occasionally a hurtling comet. Belle picks at the ends of her jeans and fiddles with her iPod but doesn't say anything. "Is your room alright?"

"What? Yeah fine." She hesitates, chewing her full bottom lip for a moment. I watch the way her throat works and she blinks for a few seconds. I'm about to ask what's wrong when she suddenly blurts, "It's my room."

I have the oddest feeling that she's not trying to state the obvious but I can't help but tease her a little. "Wellll yes, it is," I answer with a smile. She smirks and shakes her head, long hair becoming even more unruly around her unique face. Rose calls Belle pretty; I call her unique. Oh, I can see that her features are aesthetically pleasing, but the natural blond's expressions piques my curiosity in a way that has nothing to do with male physiology and psychology. There's something there, something I've only ever seen in certain humans, usually after traveling with _me_…

"No, I mean, it's _my room_," she says urgently, breaking me from my musings. "It's my childhood bedroom. There's even the window my mom painted on the slant in the ceiling because I wanted more windows." Belle's blunt fingers with their short clean nails worry the hem of her jeans more frantically. "My vanity, my bed with the fairy imprints, my sacred space with the wooden table I fixed up… S'all there." _Oh…_ Those blue eyes, now appearing a silvery green color, finally meet my eyes. I notice the wide eyed alarm in her face with a slight feeling of apprehension. There's traces of fear in her visage that set me on edge, like she's _aware_ of how that occurred.

"Ah, yes, that would just be the TARDIS, I imagine," I say as nonchalantly as possible. "Y'know, trying to offer you comfort, and all." Belle huffs in exasperation, blowing her fringe out of her face and brushing the unruly strands behind her ear. Her eyes narrow at me and she purses her full lips to the side, staring at me with eyes the colour of Earth's sky when there are clouds threatening on the horizon.

"I _know_ it's the TARDIS," she says, as patiently as if she were trying to explain a new concept to a child. "What I _want_ to know is how much the TARDIS tells you after she hangs around in my damn head." _Well now…_ I raise my eyebrows at her and she flushes, but she doesn't look away.

"You know an awful lot about me," I say quietly. The color drains from her face but her expression doesn't change as she tilts her head to the side and meets my gaze.

"If you're going to kick me out, the door's open," Belle retorts. I blink in surprise.

"Why would I kick you out?"

"I'm surprised you haven't already. I know how you get around people who know more than they should around you." _Ah, yes you would, wouldn't you? _I exhale slowly and lower my brows, letting my head lean back against the door frame.

"Normally, yes, I would take great concern with how much you know, or how much you _think_ you know." Belle snorts and rolls her eyes, but she smiles as if that was what she expected me to say. I smile back briefly before continuing. "But seeing as I've…"

"Kidnapped?" she offers cheekily.

"_Rescued _you," I say firmly with a glare. Belle sniggers into her hands but doesn't offer any other synonyms to the foul act. "I owe you, since you were not meant to be here with that knowledge anyway, and I'm afraid I can't take you home." Her face relaxes during that admission and she tilts her head the other direction, eyes wide and silver, lips parted as if she's trying to ask a question but too many are pressing at her vocals at once to voice properly. "And in any case, I have the distinct impression that you won't say anything if I ask you not to."

She raises her eyebrows. "Oh? And why is that?" she asks very softly. I smile and regard her through lowered lids.

"Because you value the integrity of secrets and privacy." I watch her eyes widen with smug satisfaction, watch her inhale sharply, can practically feel her mind cursing at herself for letting me know that she has something to hide. "And no, the TARDIS didn't tell me anything she saw in your mind; she doesn't speak in words, per say, more feelings and impressions."

Belle watches me warily, eyes flashing dark green in the dim lighting, before looking out into the night sky. Her arms are wrapped so tightly around her knees I can see the faint cords of muscles from her grip. _She's scared,_ I realize with a flash of sadness. _She's afraid of what I'll ask her._ Her breathing doesn't change, but the impossible dark blue of her eyes, the white knuckle grip she has on her body, and the rapid pulse I can see in her throat are all dead giveaways to my trained eye. I reach out and snag one of her thin wrists, lightly wrapping my long fingers around the fine bones. Belle jerks as if she's been stung and tries to pull her arm back, but I hold on firmly. "Hey. You don't have to tell me anything. Just know I would like the same courtesy." Her eyes, now their natural bright blue, look at me with faint shock.

"You're different than I'd thought you'd be," she finally says.

I smile and tilt my head. "And what did you think I'd be?" She replies without hesitation, with fear but not one that can hold her tongue.

"Angry. Ready for a fight. Barely in control." Her eyes rake over me, searching beneath my skin and trying to put voice to the observations she's made. "You're more... _heartbroken_ then I'd thought you'd be."

"I can say the same for you," I say.

Because I know that thing that haunts her expression, which casts her otherwise young face into an eerie aging process, and contours her visage into severity and a slightly cold countenance, _very_ well. I know that thing that follows her like a dark shadow when she walks, that rings in her voice like the last telltale gasp, and that causes her to pull away when she fears anyone is getting too close. Yes, that thing and I are very good friends - or very old enemies, depending on how you look at it. And, as Belle inhales sharply as if to retort, I feel her ever-changing eyes study my face… and she sees it too. She relaxes and nods, the stiffness still there but a new and grudging respect in her demeanor too. Her eyes flicker back to the starry sky hanging around the TARDIS, and I nudge her ankle with my foot teasingly. She gives me a wry little smile and shakes her head. We don't really need to say anything - she knows about me, and I know a little about her from what I've seen at the bar, and for now that's enough.

Do I like that she knows so much more about me than I do about her? Not remotely. But that thing I so very rarely see in my companions, that I explicitly try to _avoid_ if at all possible… Wellll… What I saw at the bar made me hesitate. More than hesitate. Her reactions to the boys she was with, her reactions to _me_, and the practiced ease with which she keeps people at arms length spoke volumes to this old and emotionally crippled alien.

She's lonely, plain and simple. Though I wonder if _she_ knows that.

Belle nudges me back and crosses her legs into a complicated little puzzle, groaning at what I imagine must be very sore muscles. It's then that I see the short sleeve blouse she's wearing is _very _sheer, with a bright red tank top beneath and a corset-style belt giving her womanly figure a… _boost_. I feel myself blush and immediately try to focus on the stars outside too. She laughs at me and nudges me with the foot she is _not_ trying to bend over her shoulder in a show of extreme flexibility.

"Are you _always_ gonna dress like that?" I ask, hating how my voice shoots up several octaves. I can hear from her tone alone that she's smirking.

"Why, do you have a problem with my breasts?" she demands in an over-the-top offended voice. I make a strangled noise and she laughs. "Too easy," she chuckles.

"No I do not have a problem with - _that_!" I state as firmly as possible. "I'm just wondering if you always dress so inconveniently!"

"Inconveniently?" she asks in what should have been outrage, but again I get the impression she's trying not to laugh.

"Yes! We run - surely you must know how much running I do! How can you run in… _that_?" I gesture to her attire while still keeping my gaze away from the point of inquiry as much as possible. She's full out laughing at me now, not even bothering to hide it.

"Easy, actually, since it only take a second to get off," Belle giggles. And _that_ particular picture has me stuttering so badly that she ends up laughing so hard she falls over. I shove her shoulder as soon as she's upright and she swats right back at me before clambering to her feet and offering me a hand. I take it and am surprised both by her grip and the flexing of muscles along her arm as she helps me stand. _Strong physically_, I observe casually.

I don't comment.

"So, Belle Bella Bells -" I watch the young woman's face carefully at the names and can see that her mouth quirks a little at the last one, "Where would you like to go? All of space and time at your fingertips. Allons-y! Oh, I like that, I should use that more often…"

"Um… I dunno," she replies honestly. Her blue eyes rake greedily over the console and then back at the door we closed behind us with longing. There's a flush on her pale cheeks and a smile stretching across her full lips, a _real_ one, one that manages to show all of her perfectly straight and white teeth. One of those teeth has a chip in the enamel only visible when she truly smiles. "Anywhere? Anywhere in all of time and space?"

"_Have _you watched my show? I believe that's what I offer _all_ of my companions!" I tease. She pretends to glare, marred by her smile, and shoves my shoulder.

"Yes, but see, _usually_ when you offer that it's because you're trying to get in some girl's pants," she retorts. I blush and stutter and she laughs.

"I do _not_ -"

"Almost all companions are female, 'nough said!" she yells, ducking beneath the console and tearing across to the other side of the room. I give chase, smiling and laughing as I try to catch her. I don't know what I'm going to _do_ with her when I do, but that's beside the point. Belle's quick though, deftly avoiding me and backtracking just out of reach numerous times. _Oh_, this one is going to be trouble, I just _know it_!

"And I've _never_ seen you turn down a kiss from a hot girl. Or Jack. Oh my God he's bi in this universe - ha ha!" She runs backwards to taunt me, hair becoming an even more unruly tangle around her shoulders. "That is _so_ awesome, in my reality the actor is just gay, which is _really not fair_! Hey, can I meet him? Can we go to Canary Wharf, I really want to meet him! Captain Jack Hotness!"

She slows down enough that I manage to grab her arm.

Belle shrieks when I yank her back towards me and pick her up, arms belted around her waist so she can barely move. She kicks frantically but I notice never once strikes me, legs swinging harmlessly in the air. "No Captain Jack Hark- hang on did you just call him _Hotness?!"_ Belle is laughing so hard she can barely breathe, struggling to pull in oxygen around the happiness tugging at her lungs.

"_Duh!_" the American woman giggles. With a playful scowl I dump her into the nearest chair and face her with as stern of an expression as I can manage.

"Now listen here young lady -"

"_Oi!_" she cries indignantly. I ignore her as if she hadn't said anything.

"- I will not tolerate that on my ship! None of that, now! Discussions of… _that_… will have to take place off of the TARDIS! You can moon over Jack _Harkness_ then!"

"Oh _puh_-lease! Like you haven't done things the TARDIS already knows about! Isn't that right girl?" Belle turns a cheeky smile to my ship, who hums loud enough the human woman can hear her. To my mortification the console blinks several lights and then releases a rush of air - her version of agreement. Belle smirks at me and I glare back.

"I will not be ganged up on by the women in my life!" I declare loudly with a flaring hand gesture that encompasses the TARDIS as well. Belle rolls her eyes and bounces to her feet.

"Too bad," she announces, raising her eyebrows at me as if she thought I were stupid - the smile gives her away though. But there's something in her eyes now, the same look I've seen on countless human faces over the centuries, and even though I grin and laugh a sense of unease goes through me at the shadow in those expressive irises.

Belle is planning something.

"Every man needs to have a tribe of women at some point," she continues. I practically choke on my tongue at _that_ one. Belle's eyes become confused as I splutter at the insinuation. "What?"

Oh _trouble_ isn't going to be _nearly _enough of an explanation for this one.

Before I can explain to Belle just what exactly she said, a very sleepy Rose comes into the console room. "Wha's all the screamin'?" she asks blearily, glaring at the two of us. Belle gives her a sheepish smile and I just try to keep how my hearts are thrumming so badly at such a vulnerable and content Rose under wraps.

Content. Happy. _Delicious_.

Belle gives me a pointed mock glare and then smiles at Rose gently. "Sorry, sweetie, didn't mean to wake you," she says sincerely. Rose blinks several times and brushes her hair out of her face before blinking some more.

"Wha're ya wearing?" she mumbles, widening her tired eyes to see Belle's attire better. I poorly try to smother a laugh while Belle huffs.

"A corset," she states plainly. Rose widens her eyes a few more times, partly to wake herself up and partly in reaction to what Belle said.

"Oh," she mumbles. Rose opens her mouth, closes it, shrugs, and sits down in the nearest chair. Belle arches her brows in amusement but doesn't comment on Rose's unusual quietness. Rose yawns and stretches, and I try not to focus on the skin exposed across her stomach.

Try being the operative word in this case.

"So, why're you two up?" Rose asks sleepily. "More like why're _you_ up," she clarifies, gesturing to Belle. "I swear he doesn't sleep." Belle shrugs and drops down into the chair beside Rose, stretching her legs out and wiggling her toes as she got comfortable.

"Too excited to sleep. Not every day you get to meet your favorite TV characters," she teases the other blonde, nudging her shoulder gently. Rose grins and blushes a little. "So, what adventures did you guys get into? I wanna know where you two are in the series."

"Cat nuns," Rose mumbles. Belle's eyes widen and she looks at me. I shrug and nod. Her gaze rakes over me and she goes beet red. "Wha's that face for?" Rose mumbles.

"Cat nuns… and Cassandra?" The red has intensified. I glare suspiciously at her, wondering what's wrong but also having a very bad feeling about this…

"Yeeeaaah," I say.

It takes Belle approximately ten seconds to start laughing.

"Oh my God I wish I could've seen that! The way you _pranced_…" she guffaws. Rose, waking up a little more, begins chuckling too.

"It was pretty bad," she agrees.

"It wasn't me!" I protest. "That was an evil last human who just refused to die!"

"Uh-huh, believe that!" Belle snickers. Rose grins and glances between the two of us.

"Kind of looked like when he's piloting the TARDIS," the woman I love throws in.

"Does not!" I cry irately. The two women glance at each other and then nod in perfect synchronization.

"Yeah it does," they chorus, only slightly off from each other. They both grin brightly at me, matching smiles on their faces. Even as I pout I can tell that my expression is reflecting the happiness I feel.

Sometimes I was worried that Rose was becoming alienated from everyone by being with me constantly. She visits her mum but overall she has no more friends, no more people to associate with, and no one _besides_ me. While a rather large part is selfishly glad that I am practically her whole world, another large part of me was upset by the notion that Rose might be getting lonely. She certainly glommed - oh, I _like_ that word! - onto Jack quickly enough when he showed up.

But now there's someone there, someone who she doesn't have to censor herself around for fear of outing me, someone that can understand darkness and secrets yet still smile and be childlike when she wants to be. Another woman no less, a potential confidant about all manners of things she's not comfortable talking to me about (few that those things are, and I don't really _want_ to think about those things). And, while what Belle might tell Rose about me is a little unsettling, I'm still immensely glad that she's there.

"So, Doctor," Belle calls over. "Where're you gonna take us?"

"Better not be another hospital," Rose mutters.

"Agreed, I _hate_ hospitals. Even if they _do_ have a little shop. How about someplace… _romantic?_" And she winks at me, jerking her head not-too-subtly at Rose. I roll my eyes even as my cheeks heat. _Uh-oh_ is my predominate thought when that scheming look that is so unnerving comes back to her ever-changing eyes. Rose tilts her head to look at Belle and then me, lips pursed in confusion.

"Romantic? Why romantic?"

"I dunno, 'cause I like romantic stuff," she says casually with a big grin and too bright eyes.

Even if I'm glad, that look has me _terrified_; and I have to wonder what it is I just kidnapped… sorry, _rescued._

* * *

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